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[personal profile] acts_of_gord
The thing in the suit is watching him. Time is passing.
( And the night got deathly quiet )
So he thinks.
( And his face lost all expression )
He's tempted. God knows he's tempted. He's only a man; he wouldn't be human if he weren't tempted.
( Said, “If you're going to play the game, boy," )
But then it comes to him, and it's almost enough to make him laugh. He looks up at the thing-
( “You've got to learn to play it right." )
Maybe you can do what you say, I don't know. Maybe you can undo all those deaths. Maybe I can keep the experiment from happening. Maybe I can keep anyone else from ever trying it again. Maybe I can bring down Dr. Breen before he can arrange anything else. Maybe I can spend the rest of my life doing all of that, for people who'll never know and who'll never care. Maybe the human race will be safe forever. I don't know.
( You've got to know when to hold 'em )
But when a being that told me to my face it was taking my choices away when we brought down Dr. Breen steps forward to
offer me one, I can't help but wonder why. Especially when the only other option is infinitely worse than death.
( Know when to fold 'em )
You steer me into doing what you want. You present people with the thing they need, or the worst thing in the world, and you call it a choice. You did it to Eli. You did it to me. You use me because I can do what you can't. Right now, all your plans, all your employers' plans, everything that ever mattered depends on me being able to do the one thing you can't. So you set it up so I only see the possibilities you want me to. . .
( Know when to walk away )
And as long as I accept that I'm limited to one option or the other as dealt by your hands, I'm still playing your game.

( Know when to run )
-and he says, "You decide."
( You never count your money )
It stares at him. It opens its mouth a moment, but nothing comes out; it straightens its tie, an utterly baffled look cross crossing its features.
( When you're sitting at the table )
Called your bluff, Greyface. Your game's over.
( There'll be time enough for counting )
Another man might tell the thing to leave and never return, or deal out some grand denunciatory speech- but this is Gordon Freeman. The corners of Gordon's mouth twitch briefly upward as he takes one last moment to offer the pale grey figure in the pinstriped grey suit his middle finger in salute, then steps away into the light of the Combine's hell before it can say so much as one word more.
( When the dealing's done. . . )
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Gordon Freeman

December 2012

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